Not Quite Darcy (23 page)

“I rather wanted something different, but circumstances being what they are, I had to make do. Please know if it were a world of my making we would stroll along the Thames after dining at an over-priced restaurant. I would take you to the theatre district and we'd take in another play. This we cannot do. Not now. But my intentions are there.”

She leaned up, touching her lips to his softly. “As pleasant as your evening on the town might sound, there is no place I'd rather be than before this fire with you. Besides, this way I don't have to wear those damned uncomfortable boots.”

He looked down to see her pink toes peeking out from just beneath the hem of her dress. The sight of them caused his breath to catch in the most peculiar way.

“Could I pour you a glass of wine, Eliza? You know, I don't even know if you drink wine.”

“Oh, I do. Dora and I were dipping into the cooking sherry quite a lot while your uncle was here. You'd be amazed at how well she can hold her liquor. She'd put most frat boys to shame.”

He laughed as he poured and then handed her a glass of wine. Before he could take a sip, she clinked her glass against his.

“A toast. To William!” She gave him a wide grin. “For slaying the Great Uncle Dragon.”

He laughed. “I hardly think that I—”

“No. You stood up to him. You looked him in the eye and told the old windbag to fuck a duck.”

To have carnal relations with poultry? Her mind truly went to the most amazing places. He tried to come up with a response, but she placed her fingers on his cheek.

“I was so proud of you.” She raised her glass to drink and he joined her in the toast.

She settled herself on the blanket then, wine glass in hand, stretching her legs out and warming her toes by the fire. Her skirt fell away, revealing her ankle and a bit of her calf. His brain was becoming somewhat muddled and he forced his gaze away before taking another deep sip of wine.

“William? Are you nervous?”

“No, I'm not nervous in the least.” He desperately longed to tug on his hair, but he resisted.

“Um hm. Remember when you promised me that you would always be honest with me?”

“Well then, I'm terrified.”

“Come here.” She patted the spot next to her.

He settled in beside her, wine glass in hand. He broke off a morsel of cheese and held it to her lips. “This goes very well with the wine.”

She tasted it, groaning slightly in pleasure, which caused all kinds of mayhem in his groin region. Then she stretched out along the blanket, reaching for the jar of preserved peaches. “Can we have some of these? It's been forever since I've had fruit. Where did you get them?”

“I know about Mrs. MacLaughlin's secret cache. Have since I was a lad.” He grinned at her and wagged his eyebrows in what he hoped was a rakish gesture.

“William, you thief!”

He unfastened the lid before realizing with disappointment, “I've forgotten silverware and fruit dishes.”

“Don't worry about it. We don't need that fancy stuff.” She dipped her fingers into the thick syrup and fished out a peach slice. She held to his lips, peach juice dribbling down the front of his clean white shirt. It was delightful and wonderfully erotic. He bit down on the soft fruit, carefully avoiding her fingertips.

“I've made a mess,” she said with a pout. Then she carefully began to unbutton his shirt, sliding his braces from his shoulders just before removing it. Following that, she removed his undershirt so that he was bare-chested. “This way we won't ruin your shirt. I'm all about laundry. You're not cold are you?”

“Not at all,” he murmured. “Quite…warm, actually.”

She smiled. “I'm a bit warm myself.” She looked at him through half-lidded eyes. He hesitated, but only for a moment, then lifted his hand to undo the first few buttons of her gown. His fingers trembled slightly, but he was almost sure she hadn't noticed.

He leaned over to kiss the bit of exposed skin, just along her collarbone. She gave a delicious groan, which only served to encourage him. He released a few more buttons, and kissed a bold trail along the edge where fabric met skin.

He sat back down on the blanket, his back against the foot of his bed. She nestled in beside him, laying her head in his lap. She tucked the jar of peaches by her side. Her head pillowed comfortably on his lap, she nibbled on a slice of peach while her other hand traced soft patterns on his chest.

When he reached down and stroked her hair tenderly she gave a soft kind of humming sigh which made his heart stutter. She smiled and dipped her fingers into the jar of fruit, juice dripping down her arm as she slid another bit of peach into his mouth. His hungry lips suckled her fingers just before she removed them.

She then fed a slice to herself, teeth biting into the soft fruit as she watched him through hungry eyes. She continued on this way, feeding herself a slice, and then leisurely feeding one to him, making no attempt to be tidy. Indeed, even relishing the juice that would drip across his chest as she languidly fed him the fruit. Every now and then, she would lean up to lick up an errant trickle of juice, before settling her head back into his lap to lick her fingertips, slow and catlike. Occasionally her hand would stray to shamelessly stroke his thigh or slide along the length of his erection. And then she'd casually dip her fingers back into the jar of fruit to feed him another slice, to begin the tantalizing process all over again.

He couldn't have been more surprised when he was reminded of the bible, of all things. Eliza was Eve and his bedroom was a kind of Garden of Eden. But there was no shame in her, none at all. No guilt in the pair of them. She tasted the fruit, savored it, before offering him a bite. Two lovers spread out beneath the tree of knowledge with no fig leaves and no shame. Celebrating the fruit and the knowledge they might discover. This sensuality radiated from her quite naturally while it rocked his world on its foundations.

His erection had been throbbing mightily since she'd opened his door, but since he'd fallen in love with Eliza, he'd learned many lessons on how long one could tolerate such an affliction. An aching cock was his constant state of being now and well worth the pain he endured.

She leaned up to deliver a line of kisses along his throat before meeting his lips. Her warm and willing mouth tasted of wine and summer fruit. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she deepened the kiss.

When she stood suddenly, he almost groaned aloud.

“Come with me, William. There's been something I've been wanting to do for a long time.”

Helpless, he followed her to his armchair by the window.

She smiled at him. “It's just that, since that night when I watched you in the moonlight, I've had this fantasy and I'm hoping you wouldn't mind…”

“Mind?” He asked numbly, as she unbuttoned his trousers. He stood by the armchair as she slid his trousers over his hips. They pooled at his feet. When she leaned in to untie his underwear, she delivered a tender kiss to his navel and he felt his knees grow weak. She slid his underwear to the floor and he was naked before her.

He didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything.

She placed her palm on his chest and gently pushed. It didn't take much—he collapsed on the chair. She settled in between his legs.

“You remember that night, don't you?”

He nodded.

“You took your time, teased yourself with the lace edge of my underwear. Should I take my time?” she asked.

Unsure if he should say yes or no, he found himself unable to say either. “Eliza.”

She laid her head on his thigh and looked up at him. As she watched him, her fingertips traced soft patterns along his calf, up his thigh. Gathering a lock of her hair, she dragged it slowly across his legs and then across the tip of his cock. His erection twitched involuntarily as William let out a deep moan.

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Such sweet torment.

“William? I want you to watch.”

“Eliza? You know…how I feel…about your hair…”

“I do. You told me that night when you were drunk.”

“Already told you. Recall nothing of what I said to you when I was drunk.”

“Watch, William.”

He watched.

She shook her hair out and it fell over his cock like a curtain. He groaned again, but didn't look away, couldn't deny her this. Couldn't deny himself. She wound a lock of hair around his shaft—as if it was a gift wrapped up with just the tip peeking out the end. As she slowly pulled her head up, her hair unwound sliding against his erection. He gasped and gripped the armrests tightly.

“Oh, dear god, Eliza. No idea…cannot…feel a fool. Don't wish to lose control but I cannot endure.”

“You can endure,” she reassured him. She lay her curtain of hair down over his cock again and slid her index finger just beneath the curtain, tracing a gentle line from base to tip.

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” He groaned, his fingertips digging into the armrests.

It was at that moment she heard it—they both did. The
hack-hack
of his mother coughing from the other room.

She paused and glanced up at him. He met her gaze, his lips parted as he took in ragged breaths.

Hack-hack-hack
. The sound grew louder.

“Oh, Eliza,” was all he said.

“It's okay, love,” she murmured, kissing the tip of his cock in a gesture that seemed strangely chaste.

“I'm so sorry,” he mumbled as he tugged up his drawers, then his trousers. He began to fasten the buttons rapidly. “We didn't even get—”

“Go to her. We'll continue this another time.”

Unable to do anything else, he reached into his wardrobe for a shirt. He shrugged it on, buttoning it on his way to his mother's room.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Eliza dumped another bucket load on the dining room floor and shook her head. “It just seems so backwards, tossing sand all over a floor we're trying to clean.”

“What'd you use in America, then?” Dora asked.

“Roombas, mostly.” When Dora gave her a puzzled glance, Eliza shrugged. “Never mind. What comes after sand?”

Dora handed her a crude brush with stiff bristles. “We scrub. The ox-gall we put on it last night should help make short work of it. Then we gives it a polish with the soft cloths in the corner.”

“Then we're done?”

“Then another round with a soft cloth before we starts the oiling.”

Eliza sank to her knees and began thrusting the scrub brush through the sand. It had already been a long, physically exhausting morning, but then, that was probably just what she needed. It was the only thing that took her mind off him. The way he'd looked at her last night, his eyes aflame. The way he sighed her name as she sat between his thighs. The way he—

“Eliza! You're not supposed to open up a hole in the floor,” Dora cried.

Looking down, Eliza could see she'd scoured a deep circle in the wood. “Yikes!” Determined to pay more attention, she moved on, wondering if he was as befuddled as she today. Since she'd been cloistered in the dining room with Dora all morning, she hadn't been able to see William at all.

“The mister has arranged for us to leave off work at six o'clock today,” Dora said, giving Eliza a sly smile. “Arranged it with Mrs. MacLaughlin himself.”

“Oh,” Eliza mumbled, too confused to say more.

“'S quite all right. He told me all about it.” Dora tossed her scrub brush into the bucket with a flourish. “I know all about the
ball
.” She looked so delighted that Eliza couldn't help but picture a Disney mouse, scurrying around to find pearls for Cinda-relly.

“It was very thoughtful of William. And you don't mind?”

Dora splashed a little dirty water in Eliza's direction. “No! I get to play fancy lady's maid to you! What's to mind about that?”

Eliza went back to scrubbing, her mind at long last on her mission and what might happen at the ball. Her entire experience in this place seemed to be pointing her toward this moment. And once her mission was complete, what then?

By the time six came around, Eliza was far too nervous to eat. She trudged up the back stairs to her room while Dora ran back to her house to pick up a few small things.

Eliza lifted the latch on her bedroom door and stepped into the room. She gasped in surprise. The dress from the antique shop lay in the center of her bed. Moss-green satin with ebony trim. It wasn't a copy of the dress, oh no. It was the dress from the window. The one that had led her into this devil's bargain.

A small, hand-written note was pinned to the right side of the bodice.
For Eliza—Yours, William

Her world tilted. She closed the door and leaned against it for balance.

Breathe, Eliza. You have to keep breathing.

She took a tentative step toward the dress. Her legs shook as hard as they had the night she'd caught pneumonia. She sank down on the bed beside the dress. She couldn't even lift a hand to touch the gown. She could only stare at it blankly.

Oh god, if there were ever any doubt about her mission, it had just vanished like the morning mist. The message was clear. Her mission—and therefore her time here—was about to come to an abrupt conclusion.

“Not now. Lancaster and York? Not yet, please.”

Eliza had never been much for crying, but then, there had rarely been such a good reason for tears. She let them flow freely, and curled to one side, carefully cradling the gown in her arms.

When she heard Dora's distinctive steps sound down the hallway, she sat up and tried to dry her face. Dora burst into the room carrying several large parcels.

“What's this? Tears?” Dora dropped her packages on the floor unceremoniously and swept Eliza into a hug. “No, you mustn't. Not today. Me? I'd be terrified of my manners around such swells, but you needn't worry, Eliza! You'll do us all proud. You'll see. Besides, many of them will be Americans. Their manners won't be right anyway, and they likely won't catch your mistakes.”

As far as pep talks went, this one scored an
F
, but Dora was trying so hard to be cheery. Eliza gave the girl a watery smile.

“Oh, goodness! Look at this gown! Mr. Brown certainly outdid himself!” Dora waggled her eyebrows at Eliza. “Now let's get to work, shall we?”

At nine o'clock Eliza sat on the edge of her bed, nervously waiting for the sound of William's footstep in the hall. She'd heard the nurse arrive at seven and listened at the door as William had given the woman instructions for the evening. The hallway had been silent for some time now, and he was likely dressing for the ball.

Craving a little alone time, Eliza had shooed Dora out the door thirty minutes ago. Another stupid decision, as it turned out. Too much time alone was beginning to make her nervous. She reached up and traced a finger along the chignon that Dora had fashioned at the base of her neck. The girl had very cleverly woven a strand of pearls into the complicated knots. Dora truly would have been a spectacular lady's maid—or in Eliza's own time, a stylist.

She looked down at her gown and realized she'd never felt more beautiful. She couldn't help but recall so many Saturday nights in the life she'd left in California. Dressed in a skin-tight dress with too-tall pumps, swinging through the club scene—desperately trying to look casual while feeling slightly terrified. The nineteenth century might get a lot of things wrong, but from where Eliza sat at that exact moment, it knew how to make a girl feel pretty.

Eliza jumped when a soft knock disrupted her. She stood up, smoothed out her gown and opened the door to him.

William had transformed into another man entirely. He looked quite beyond dashing—indeed, he would have put even the Colin Firth version of Mr. Darcy to shame. William wore a jet-black suit coat with tails, with matching trousers and vest. His bright white shirt matched a crisp tie. He carried a pair of white kid gloves and his hair was neatly slicked back. Her hands itched to reach up and muss it, just a bit—to bring out a bit of his curls.

He bowed formally from the waist.

“Miss Pepper,” he intoned, but when he glanced up at her, his blue eyes twinkled.

“Mr. Brown.” She curtsied deeply, managing to keep her knees politely tucked in.

William lifted her still ungloved hand to his mouth. His lips were warm and lingered. Without taking them away from her hand, he murmured, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Her first urge was to laugh off the compliment or joke with him, but he looked at her with such burning sincerity that she couldn't find it in her. “Thank you, William. You're quite handsome yourself.”

She took his proffered arm and stepped out into the hall. He led her down the front steps and out the front door. Eliza had never seen the vehicle that waited for them in front of the house. It was larger than the usual carriage and was quite striking. Black and shiny, trimmed with red, with four lanterns lighting the corners—it seemed the nineteenth-century equivalent of a Lamborghini. The carriage must have belonged to the Browns, however, for Davy was sitting in the driver's seat. He leapt down when they approached and opened the door with a bow.

Eliza slid across the smooth leather seat and settled into a corner. When William entered, he surprised her by sitting next to her. He took her arm in his. Davy gave a tsk and the carriage lurched forward.

He smiled, his teeth gleaming white in the dark carriage. “Excited, darling?”

She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, but he saw through her façade in an instant.

He kissed her forehead tenderly. “You'll do fine. We're going to have an evening you'll never forget.”

“Thank you for the dress, William. Oh jeez. I can't believe I didn't thank you before now. It's just that my nerves are a little…”

“I'm pleased you like it. I'll confess, the process of choosing the cut, the fabric, the colors—was wonderfully enjoyable for me. Perhaps my pleasure even exceeds your own.”

Eliza longed to tell him what it meant to her beyond this night. To tell him about how the dress had called to her even in her own time. She could not. He wouldn't believe her. Even if he did, it would only be a reminder of how little time they had left.

Perhaps I wouldn't have to go back right away if I somehow managed to fuck up my mission. Lancaster and York would have to let me stay and try to make it right, wouldn't they? It might be worth a shot.

When she lapsed into silence, he seemed comfortable in that. He simply sat beside her and held her hand as the carriage bumped along the road to Mayfair, the flickering gaslight played shadows across his face. Eliza found herself wanting to prolong the ride as long as possible, dreading the possibilities of how her mission might be involved in the ball.

The carriage pulled to a halt in front of a large home. A line of lanterns lit the perimeter of the property and a fleet of costumed servants, complete with white powdered wigs, attended the line of arriving carriages.

William leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. He nuzzled his nose against her ear and whispered, “I want this night to be something you'll always remember.”

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, afraid that if William caught a good look at her, her fear and dread would be too evident. When they heard someone fumbling at the carriage door, she pulled away from William and busied herself by slipping on her gloves.

The bewigged servant wore an expression serious enough to befit a founding father. He extended a gloved hand and assisted Eliza from the carriage. William followed, then took her arm in his.

A busy knot of people gathered in front of the stairs, and William led the way toward them. Though the ball was at a private home, the crowd was more the size that would be appropriate for a hotel. A few in the cluster gave William and Eliza curious glances, but for the most part, the crowd was far more interested in brighter stars in their social circle and they allowed the couple to pass without comment.

The ballroom was on the fourth floor and the strains of orchestral music wafted down the stairway. The banister was draped with a garland of flowers and red, white and blue bunting. Small candles were placed on each step. As William led Eliza up the staircase, she couldn't help but think how terribly flammable balls seemed to be. It really was a wonder that none of her romance novels had managed to end in fiery death.

The ballroom itself was as populated as it was lavishly decorated. The draperies had been festooned with more flowers, complemented with flags from America and England. Enormous floral arrangements crowded the walls and bordered the small orchestra playing in the corner.

At the far end of the room, just over the heads of the crowd, Eliza saw Jennie Jerome holding court. She looked as though she'd stepped out of a painting at the Louvre and wore a dress of shimmering red-gold. It was cut daringly low, but all eyes were drawn not to her décolletage, but to the shining ruby necklace that adorned her throat. Jennie's elaborate hairstyle also was highlighted with a string of rubies, which winked in the gaslight.

“Shall we greet our hostess?” William inclined his head toward Eliza.

“Sure.” Eliza exhaled, hoping she might purge a bit of dread.

Before they could reach Jennie, however, the orchestra started up again, and their hostess was swept onto the dance floor.

William and Eliza stepped to the side and tucked themselves in beside the large pots of flora.

“Should you wish to dance, Eliza?” William did not wear a very enthused expression. “You did not bring your fan and it's terribly difficult to tell.”

Eliza watched the dancers for a moment. “This doesn't exactly look like any waltz I've ever seen.”

“It's the varsouvienne. If you'd rather not I would be…”

“You'd be what?”

“Immensely relieved.” He laughed. “I truly abhor this dance.”

She reached down to squeeze his hand, though she was fairly certain this wasn't the kind of thing that one did at a ball. When she lingered, her hand in his, he didn't seem to mind in the slightest. They watched the couples in a pleasurable silence.

The following dance was a quadrille, which they also sat out. The dancers passed by in a whirl of colorful skirts. When the next song began, the couples swirling past them took on more familiar movements. The standard box waltz. She gave a sigh of relief.

William released her hand and took a step back, inclining his head toward her slightly. “Miss, may I have the pleasure of sharing this dance with you?”

She beamed a smile at him and stepped into his arms.

After a few faltering first steps, they found their stride and moved gracefully through the crowd. William masterfully guided their steps through the press of couples, his hand a comforting presence on the small of her back.

Tonight was everything she'd ever wanted. At a ball, in a beautiful gown, in the arms of a dashing gentleman. A man she loved with all her heart. And she was terrified it was all about to end.

”Would you like some refreshment, Eliza?”

“Very much. With any luck, someone has spiked the punch.” William gave her a curious look and she could just see him trying to envision placing railroad spikes into a punch bowl.

He took her arm and led her into a side chamber, at the rear of the ballroom. A large center table had been laid with an enormous floral centerpiece along with tea and coffee, but, alas, no punch. Several smaller side tables were laden with an assortment of ices, sandwiches, cakes and biscuits. Eliza took a small china plate and, always being a nervous eater, proceeded to load it up.